


Fix All Your Problems

by silvereyedotaku



Series: A Thief And A Forger [4]
Category: Papillon (2018)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 22:16:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18019478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvereyedotaku/pseuds/silvereyedotaku
Summary: Henri catches more than a few eyes lingering on Dega’s slim form and the feminine angles of his face. He finds livid, all-encompassing rage rising in him - the selfless sort of anger he couldn’t help but feel, wanting to protect someone who couldn’t protect themselves.





	Fix All Your Problems

**Author's Note:**

> Set after Papi's 1st time in solitary, when he's staying in the infirmary  
> Warnings for implied noncon and poor methods of dealing with that

It's a common enough occurrence - something unspoken, yet guaranteed about life in prison. Henri didn’t remain unaware of it - he had a blurry impression of what some of the men would like to do to each other for no reason other than unadulterated cruelty or complete disregard for whether the other party wanted it in the face of their own animal lust.

However, it wasn’t like anyone was going to try anything with him, knowing he’d knock their fucking head off, so he remained mostly unclear on the subject - until he watched Maturette shove the huge, hulking turnkey off him in the bathroom of the hospital.

As the man lumbered away, Henri felt a kind of livid, all-encompassing rage rising in him, along with the new knowledge of what could go on in dark corners of the barracks. It's the same righteous anger that came from watching the men shove Dega around at Route Zero when his head was turned, vicious threats masked with complaints of him slowing them down, or from watching sleazy business men put their hands all over his Nenette back in Paris, knowing she couldn’t push them away without losing her job.

It was a selfless sort of anger he couldn’t help but feel, wanting to protect someone who couldn’t protect themselves, despite all intelligence he possessed telling him to let it go.

The only thing that dampens this burning is Maturette’s parting comment about his murder sentence, and lying his hospital cot later, Henri realised that maybe he'd been wrong - Maturette _could_ defend himself and didn’t need his help.

Maybe he would turn out to be a valuable asset to their escape team. The thought makes him smile.

\---

The next day isn’t even up before he’s wondering how he never noticed it before. The leers and muttered comments are blindingly obvious now he’s looking for them, as he steps back into prison life after having successfully conned the guards into believing his madness. It’s jarring to be reintroduced back into the general prison population, but that shock is dimmed by his new disgust at the words whispered behind hands around him.

They’re mostly directed at Maturette, but he catches more than a few eyes lingered on Dega’s slim form and the feminine angles of his face as well. This sets him off like nothing that happened to Maturette could.

It only worsens when they enter the queue for the showers later in the day, and Henri has to be pulled away from a fight with an ugly Spanish thief with a thick beard and wandering hands. In some ways, Henri has to respect his boldness - he had been right there in front of Dega, and yet the man had still had the courage to reach down and fist his fingers in Dega’s hair, hissing lewd promises into his ear that were just loud enough for Henri to hear. That begrudging respect for his bold move doesn’t stop him from trying to knock the fucker’s teeth out for touching Dega, though.

Henri didn’t intend to discuss the incident with Dega, writing it off as just another facet to his duty as protector. However, his eyes catch on Dega’s down-turned face, finding no panic or anger in his eyes, only resigned exhaustion. He stares at the slumped line of the man’s shoulders.

It’s then that it hits him that this isn’t the first time this has happened. It’s like a knife to the heart, realising that Dega’s blank eyes have seen this, and probably worse, on multiple previous occasions.

He drags the man to the side without a second more of thought, uncaring for their closeness. “How many times has this happened since I’ve been in solitary?” he demands, straight to the point, in hushed, dangerous tones.

Dega sighed. “Papi-“ he began tiredly, trying to step aside, only to be pulled back into place by Henri’s rough grip of his wrist.

“Dega. Look at me.” Henri says, putting all his anger into making his voice commanding. He watches with a flash of satisfaction as Dega finally makes proper eye-contact, surprised by the firmness of his tone. Henri was always very careful about not purposely hurting him, knowing how goddamn fragile he could be and not wanting to contribute to the already difficult prison life, so this unusual display of intimidation got his attention immediately. “I’m serious. How many times has this happened?” Henri ground out through gritted teeth.

He felt a tightness in his throat, sickly reminiscent of when he was a child, battered by his father and holding back tears, wishing desperately the whole world would end, if it meant there would be no more suffering.

Dega shifted uncomfortably, suddenly very aware of the lack of barriers between their bare skin. “This isn’t an issue I’m preoccupied with-“ he tries again, before Henri presses even harder against his shoulders.

They lock eyes, and if Dega wasn’t already shocked speechless by the bruising way those rough fingers are holding him in place, he would be by the animal ferocity in Henri’s eyes. For the first time since their time in the hospital, Dega wonders if the time spent in solitary really did knock a few screws loose in the safecracker’s head.

“Please.” The plea shocks them both, but Henri finds the softness in his voice to be genuine. He dislikes being vulnerable at the best of times, but he finds that he doesn’t care. He tries again, injecting the raw emotion bubbling in his chest into his words. “Dega. _Please_.”

Dega looks away, but Henri’s grip doesn’t abate. “Only a few times.” he says quietly, abject humiliation clear in his voice.

If he was honest, after having figured out he couldn’t help prevent this, Dega had hoped Henri would never find out. He’d began to indulge himself in thinking they had been forming a genuine friendship before Julot’s execution, unconstricted by money or bargains, but now this was out in the open, he supposed he could kiss that hope goodbye. Being called _his_ bitch was one thing - actually being one was something else entirely.

Henri’s heart clenched unexpectedly as he watched Dega struggle to hide his unwarranted shame. He let go off the man’s shoulder, stepping back to give him some room. He didn’t know how to comfort him, how to tell him he had _no_ reason to be embarrassed, how to apologise for not being there to stop this, asides from hunting down the people who had the nerve to touch Dega, and breaking their bones. That wasn’t possible right then, so he settled for a gentle pat on the back, gratified when Dega didn’t flinch away.

Dega let his cracked lips curve into a tiny smile, finding it to take less effort than he thought, even in the face of his grim confession. “It’s okay. Really Papi, it’s fine. You’re back now.”

It’s later that night, when they’re back in their bunk and the quiet sounds of the night outside have begun to fill the space around them - when he’s finally managed to rid himself of the insidious image of Dega struggling in another man’s arms - Henri allows himself to think about the way Dega felt beneath his fingers. His shoulder blades had been so prominent that Henri found himself worrying about his rations. Surely handling the warden’s books must afford him a little bit extra here and there? Then again, the guards that Dega claimed had been keeping a special eye on him while Henri was away hadn’t prevented the other inmates groping him, so clearly they couldn’t be trusted much.

His shoulder blades had been sharp as glass, and oddly reminiscent of a small bird’s wings. Maybe the nickname Celier had coined for Dega had more truth to it than previously imagined; a _birdie_ without flight.

He quiets his thoughts. Sleep won’t come if his mind is racing at a mile-a-minute.

As he drifts off, Dega tossing and turning beside him, Henri finds himself dreaming that Dega really did unfold wings from his back, and soured away from him, out of the prison walls and across the ocean, riding the winds to freedom.

He wakes in a cold sweat, gripping Dega’s shirt so hard his nails have torn a hole in the fabric above his ribs. He can’t bear the thought of Dega leaving him behind any more than he can stomach the idea of them stuck in French Guiana until the end of their days.

In a moment of selfish weakness, with nothing but the moon as his witness, he wishes fervently for that to never happen.

**Author's Note:**

> ouch ouch ouch  
> this was the 1st papillon fic i wrote way back in the day before they consumed my life lol, pls leave kudos/a comment if you enjoyed! ;)


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